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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122891">Won't You Stay?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars'>allmystars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidents, Alternate Universe, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Caves, Christmas, Dying Dean Winchester, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Sacrifice, Sharing a Bed, Shipper Sam Winchester, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, Wingfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:14:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A week before Christmas, a weekend with his brother, and a hike into the mountains shouldn’t change a single thing about Dean Winchester’s life. It’s just a trip, just to distract Sam from everything he’s lost.</p><p>But, when a blizzard blows in, stranding the Winchesters, Sam finds a crack in the rock-face, and everything changes.</p><p>A pit, and pain, and every broken thing inside Dean, discovered by angels.</p><p>Well, one angel. One powerless, <em>exiled angel</em>.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s been centuries since Castiel met a new human. </p><p>By choice, of course. He’s not one to poke the proverbial bear, and maybe one day, if he behaves long enough, he’ll be invited back to heaven. He doesn’t want to screw that up.</p><p>Until he meets Dean Winchester, and everything changes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>#ficwip 2020 gift exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/theirprofoundbond/gifts">theirprofoundbond</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey y'all,</p><p>In anticipation for the lockdown coming my way in the next few days, here's a fic that has nothing to do with any of that.</p><p>This fic is for the #ficwip holiday exchange, and more specifically, for theirprofoundbond! I was SO excited to find out I'd be writing for them again, and even if this isn't the story I had next in my queue, it was fun, and a little different from what I'm used to.</p><p>There are a few warnings to keep in mind, but don't forget that happy ending tag. Everything turns out fine in the end. So, warnings: life-threatening injuries, minor violence, temporary MCD.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think in the comments!</p><p>- allmystars</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You sure you’re up for this?” Dean just barely catches the way Sam looks back over his shoulder. The fretting bastard, of course Dean’s up for this. He’s not that old. </p><p>“I’m fine,” Dean snaps, but he’s not. Oh, God, he feels like he’s dying. His lungs are on fire and his calves are burning, and if he doesn’t get a drink, like, <em> now</em>, he’s going to pass out.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Sam huffs, readjusting his pack as he picks up the pace. “You’ve been lagging, is all. I don’t want to get to the top only to have to turn back to find you collapsed face down in a riverbed.”</p><p>Instead of responding, he shoots his brother a glare, sweat stinging his eyes even in the sharp, biting wind. The temperature feels like it’s dropped a good ten degrees in the last half hour, falling steadily below freezing as they climb higher and higher up the mountain.</p><p>Honestly, Dean’s not even sure why he agreed to this. He hates exercise with a burning passion that rivals his distaste for rabbit food and Taylor Swift.</p><p>But Sam wanted to and he’d do just about anything to see his little brother smile after the year he’s had. He can’t even imagine what it’s been like for him—losing his girlfriend in a fire and his best friend, Brady, to a drive-by shooting… </p><p>The kid needs a break, and Dean’s not about to deny him such a simple thing.</p><p>So, he hikes, giving his brother shit whenever he can, but it’s not all bad. He likes the fresh air, and the wilderness has always given back something he never knew was missing. Even as a kid, Dean had always felt more at home beneath a wide-open sky.</p><p>“It’s going to snow,” Sam says after a while. He’s looking up at the thick, grey clouds overhead, squinting into the gloom, and Dean can’t say he disagrees. Winter is always a toss up with the weather, even in the city, but up here in the mountains? It can turn on a dime. “You want to turn around?”</p><p>Dean can see an out for what it is and, God, does he want to take it. Part of him does, anyway, but the other, smaller part of him that sees the hope in his brother’s eyes knows they have to keep going. Sam needs this, so Dean will do it.</p><p>“Nah, we’re almost there.”</p><p>The relief in his brother's eyes, and the renewed pep in his step, almost makes the faceplant he takes a few minutes later worth it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No way,” Dean says, rolling his eyes as a few stray snowflakes drift around their heads. “There’s no such thing as angels.”</p><p>“Seriously? You’ll believe in a chupacabra, werepire, and freaking  <em> Jefferson-Starships</em>—whatever those are—but not angels?” Sam shoots him a look, but keeps walking, stepping over boulders and around small bushes. “There’s more evidence that they exist than there is for almost anything else.” </p><p>“Fine, but that doesn’t mean there’s one living in the mountains.” Dean rolls his eyes, beyond done with this conversation.</p><p>Sam’s not, though. “Okay, but you’ve heard the stories as much as I have. A winged man? A glowing cave? A dark-feathered bird flying just above the trees? Come on, man, it’s suspicious.” Sam watches him like he’s begging Dean to believe him, but he won’t. It’s ridiculous. Angels don’t <em> exist</em>.</p><p>“Sure, it’s weird, but if you think I’m about to get on my hands and knees and start praying to some feathered freak, you’ve got another thing coming.” Dean pulls his jacket in tighter as a harsh wind cuts through the trees, whistling in the thinning air as the snow starts to pick up. “It would be nice to live up here, though. Away from the stress, and the traffic, and all the damn <em> people</em>.” </p><p>As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows they’re true. Yeah, it’s cold, and, yeah, it’s a hike and half to get here, but there’s just something about the feeling in his chest—the pulsing, swelling sense of <em> home</em>—that makes him never want to leave.</p><p>“Oh, please,” Sam says, looking over at him with an incredulous face. “You’d get bored after ten minutes and miss your car after five.” Sam laughs, and Dean tries to do the same, but there’s an ache in his chest that just won’t go away.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, but nothing more. Maybe Sam’s right, or maybe he’s not, but either way, Dean’s not about to pack up his life and move up here just because it might be nice. Not even the open sky and fresh Colorado air is worth giving up his Baby, after all.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The wind whips through the mountains, chilling Dean to the bone as snow falls in thick flakes, covering the ground in no time. He pulls his jacket in tighter, shivering as he and Sam trudge further into the storm.</p><p>There’s no turning back now.</p><p>“I think I see something!” Sam yells from up ahead, pointing into the wall of hazy, darkening white. “An opening!”</p><p>Dean doesn’t see a thing, but he follows his brother anyway, too exhausted to argue. They didn’t dress for this weather, and even if they did, Dean’s soaked through with sweat. He knows they need to get warm and dry soon, but the growing fear squeezing his chest won’t let him hope for shelter just yet.</p><p>“I don’t see a damn thing, Sammy,” Dean says, choking on his every breath with the sharpness of the air. God, he hates this. Why the hell did he let Sam talk him into this?</p><p>His knees shake, dipping and aching with every step. They make slow headway, trudging through the shin-deep snow. Dean’s jeans are soaked through—his boots filled and freezing—but he’s been through worse. They both have.</p><p>“Look! Right there,” he says, pointing again, and there’s a certain amount of excitement in his voice. Sam quickens his step, his long moose legs springing through the snow to what Dean can now see is a dark split in the otherwise white rockface. </p><p>His heart leaps, thundering in time with his laboured breaths as his pain goes numb. He shoves through the snow, tripping and slipping and almost falling on his face, but he makes it just as Sam reaches the entrance.</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean says, scowling as he grabs Sam’s shoulder, pulling him around with aching fingers. “You can’t just walk into a mysterious cave. There could be anything in there.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes, his too-long hair caked with snow and frozen to his neck. “So, what? We’re just going to sit outside and hope the snow stops?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Dean says, shouldering Sam out of the way to step through the narrow crack first. </p><p>The darkness presses in on him as soon as he’s inside. It’s almost suffocating, with the jagged rock tugging at his jacket with every step. As soon as he breaches the entrance, the sounds of the storm fade away, leaving nothing but the <em> drip-drip </em> of far-off water and the sound of his own breaths.</p><p>Dean takes careful steps, feeling his way along the walls until they fall away, leaving his hands grasping for purchase. His heart leaps, breath catching as he stumbles. He can feel Sam close being, but not close enough to catch him when he steps, his foot dropping and finding nothing. </p><p>With a shout, Dean falls, and he just keeps on falling. </p><p>“Dean!” Sam yells, but Dean barely hears it over the cracking of his own bones when he hits the bottom. </p><p>And then there’s pain—so much <em> pain</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a slow process, coming back to himself. It feels like tearing himself from the depths of the ocean. Pain tries to drag him back down, but in the back of his consciousness, he hears Sam’s voice, shouting his name.</p><p>“<em>Dean</em>!” He can hear it, but the blackness holds tight to everything around him. Beneath his fingers sits the rock he’d been reaching for. Except it’s not. This rock is sticky, wet, and warmer than it should be. It has a sick twist curdling his stomach, but it’s not even close to the first thing on his mind.</p><p>An aching, throbbing, stabbing pain fills him. He’s not even sure where it stems from, if there <em> is </em>a place. He feels it everywhere—in every joint and bone and inch of skin. It fills his mind and thoughts and world as Sam screams on. </p><p>“I can’t get you! I can’t—”</p><p>Or maybe it’s Dean screaming. </p><p>“I’m going to get help, Dean! I’m going to—”</p><p>Maybe it’s Sam saying Dean’s name and <em> Dean </em>screaming. </p><p>“I’ll be back with supplies and help. Just… just hang on.”</p><p>He feels like he could be. Feels like every part of him is screaming. </p><p>“I’ll be back soon, Dean. I promise.”</p><p>
  <em> Screaming, screaming, screaming. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>For the first time in over a thousand years, Castiel feels pain that isn’t his own.</p><p>He’s not sure when it starts, or where it’s coming from, but over about an hour, it grows and grows until he can’t ignore it anymore. </p><p>It’s <em> everywhere</em>.</p><p>All over his body and mind and bones and breath. It <em> hurts</em>, catching in his throat and shivering to the tips of his wings.</p><p>With an ache and a groan, Castiel uncurls from his perch, stretching his wings with satisfying pops as he sets his book aside. He groans, pulling on his clothes before swooping to the cool stone floor several stories down. His nest is comfortable—filled with old pillows and worn blankets—but this perch, high up in the crevice that doesn’t quite reach the surface, has always been his favourite place. Now, though, the curiosity-mixed-fear is getting the better of him.</p><p>It’s been a millennia, after all.</p><p>His heart thunders in his chest with every step closer. It feels like the pain is near the entrance. Maybe right at the pit. Did someone… has someone come for him? Has he been found?</p><p>Castiel stops walking, the stone beneath his feet damp and cool, but he hardly notices as he weighs his options. </p><p>Anything could be out there. Should he just turn back? Hide away in his nest until whatever is within his cave succumbs to their pain? He should—he knows he should—and he almost turns around.</p><p>But the pain pulses and grows, drawing him in like a beacon of being. He’s been alone for so long, and even before his exile, he could never deny a human.</p><p>The echoes of pain come in waves, almost forcing him back entirely a few times, and nearly sending him to his knees a few others. He tucks his wings in tight, shuddering with the soul-deep cry bleeding through the walls.</p><p>This human is dying.</p><p>Castiel runs.</p><p>Bare feet slapping the floor as the dank, stale scent of his stone prison shifts into fresher air, brought in by the barely-there crack in the rock. It’s brighter here, though he knows it would still be impossible to see with the human eye. Castiel’s eyes aren’t human though, and angels can see light that doesn’t exist.</p><p>Even still, the edge of the pit comes up faster than he expects, and he has to throw his wings forward to keep from plunging head first into its depths. As it is, the pain almost sends him there anyway.</p><p>With a rattling in his chest and fear like nothing else, Castiel kneels by the edge of the pit, peering into the darkness to glimpse what lies below.</p><p>What he finds is a broken, twisted semblance of a man. His arms stick out at awkward positions, and Castiel’s stomach turns at what looks like bone jabbing through a thigh. Even from here, probably a good thirty feet up, Castiel can smell the blood. Fresh and warm and still seeping out.</p><p>Even so close to death, the man’s soul is the most vibrant Castiel has ever seen. It calls to him, drawing him in until he’s spreading his wings and gliding to the blood-sticky floor below.</p><p>The man is unconscious, that much is clear from the steady, if weak, heartbeat and the hush in the air. Castiel moves closer, crouching low as curiosity and fear mingle inside him. </p><p>There’s a moment—a flicker of movement—where Castiel thinks the man might be waking up, but his eyes don’t open and the only sound he makes is a soft whimper.</p><p> knowCastiels he needs to get the man to safety—get him off the freezing ground and into some kind of warmth—but there are a few immediate problems he’s facing.</p><p>The first being that, without his ability to heal, the man will be in an inordinate amount of pain when moved and Castiel could be doing more harm than good.</p><p>And now, looking at this fragile human, broken and bleeding, Castiel can’t think of a single thing that could get him to cause more pain. </p><p><em> Humanity</em>, he remembers, <em> is the downfall of the angels</em>. </p><p>But he tries anyway, pulling on his fleeting grace so that the glow of his eyes lights up the pit, bouncing soft blue off the walls and over sharp cheekbones, full lips, and long, curling eyelashes. The man is beautiful, even in his pain.</p><p>A hand to his cheek and the pull of one life to another. Castiel tries to heal him, drawing on his deadened powers until his hands shake, head aches, and exhaustion overtakes him. He can’t do it. He can’t save the man, and that realization hits him dead in the chest like a blow.</p><p>He’ll have to move him, then.</p><p>Even with enhanced angel strength, it takes everything inside Castiel to be gentle as he lifts the man, cradling him in his arms as sharp stabs of agony hit him. This close, the pain feels like his own—rippling in his wings as he scoops his arms under broad shoulders and bloody knees. </p><p>He lifts, and the man <em> screams</em>.</p><p>Castiel feels it in his own chest, burning his throat and ripping at his lungs. The man doesn’t fight him though, and as Castiel stills, the screaming quiets to an agonizing moan, until the only sound echoing off the walls is the drip of warm blood hitting cold stone.</p><p>Castiel takes a shaking breath. Then another. He spread his wings, heart thundering in his ribcage, and flies.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>When Dean wakes, it’s like tearing himself from a sinkhole. Like peeling his mind from a tar pit and forcing it into a place with more pain than pleasure. He wants to sleep. He wants to <em> die</em>. But that’s not how this works and he hates the whole world for it.</p><p>With a pounding head and too much pain to bear, Dean lets out a quiet moan, not daring to move as he opens his eyes.</p><p>He expects to find darkness—the inside of whatever hell pit he fell into—but instead of endless black and icy fear, he’s cocooned in the kind of warmth he hasn’t felt in years. </p><p>There’s a warm glow to the space, and he’s wrapped in something soft; a blanket, he thinks. It smells a little like mildew and sweat—and is that a feather?—but he can hardly focus on a thing outside the <em> pain</em>.</p><p>It’s not nearly as sharp anymore, muted and aching, but his breath still catches with every tiny shift. He’s dizzy and sick to his stomach, woozy from blood-loss, he’s sure, and judging by the sharp, metallic scent in the air, he’s not finished yet. Every inhale is like a knife jabbed between his ribs, and a hammer to the inside of his skull. </p><p>How is he alive? Because he <em> must </em>be alive with all this pain. Well, maybe not; he’s sure hell isn’t exactly easy-riding. Is that where he is? Hell?</p><p>Dean squints in the low fire light, tracing the shadows on the high stone walls, and finds one that’s particularly odd—human-like, but not quite.</p><p><em> This can’t be hell</em>, he decides, as the figure steps into the light, its—<em>his</em>—twenty-foot wingspan easily engulfing the space before the ruffled black feathers tuck in behind his back. <em> There are no angels in hell</em>.</p><p>Dean’s heart kicks into high gear, pounding away at his rib cage even as he fights back his fear. He’s helpless, he knows—totally at the angel’s mercy in the state he’s in—but still, showing his fear is probably the worst thing to do.</p><p>“Who are you?” Dean rasps, his throat tight and scratchy—his words so quiet, they’re almost inaudible.</p><p>“Castiel,” the angel says, crouching down at the edge of the… uh, <em> nest</em>? Is it a nest? Dean glances around, finding piles of blankets and stacks of cushions softening the rock he’s sure is beneath him. He keeps his distance nonetheless, choosing the space as far from the light as possible and leaving Dean room to breathe with ease. </p><p>“Yeah, but what are you?” Annoyance bleeds through Dean’s fear. When’s the last time this… <em> thing</em>, talked to a human?</p><p>Luminescent blue eyes meet Dean’s through the dark, holding nothing but the barest hint of curiosity, and maybe a dose of his own fear, as he rocks forward on the balls of his feet. “I’m an angel of the lord.” The words are no more than a whisper, but a shiver dancing along Dean’s spine. “Well, I used to be,” he continues, eyes falling to the floor as he folds his arms around his knees. A strand of dark, greasy hair hangs over his forehead. “Until I was cast from the heavens.”</p><p>Despite his better judgement, Dean finds himself wanting to talk to the angel, if only to distract himself from the pain. “What—” He stops. Clears his throat. “What happened? How did I…”</p><p>“Get here? I carried you.” </p><p>Dean swallows the lump in his throat, overwhelmed by an emotion he can’t name. The angel looks on with curiosity, and definitely a hint of fear, but Dean’s too drained to dig into that right now. </p><p>“Oh. Well, t-thanks, I guess.” He lays his head back, his pulse thumping with an insistent reminder that he’s not okay. “You just gonna sit there?” It’s a little weird, if he’s honest, and it’s doing nothing to ease the tension in his bruised and battered muscles.</p><p>“Where else would I sit?” The angel, Castiel, cocks his head to one side, puppy-dog like, and it’s almost cute—would be cute, if Dean didn’t know the angel could end him with a lift of his finger.</p><p>“I don’t know. Forget it.” He tries to relax—God, does he try—but every breath brings a new, stabbing pain. Blood loss will kill him soon, if it doesn’t slow down, and if it’s not that, it’ll be internal bleeding, or infection. </p><p>Dean closes his eyes, sinking into the weight of unconsciousness before he’s ripped back to the waking world once more.</p><p>“Don’t sleep!” The angel’s booming voice cuts through Dean, and his eyes snap open, finding piercing blues boring into him. “You cannot, you…” He shakes his head, moving closer until he’s kneeling next to him. “Stay awake. What… what’s your name? Yeah! What’s your name?”</p><p>Dean blinks, a little groggy, and a lot light-headed. “D-Dean,” he breathes, slurring the syllables as his head rolls in the angel's direction. He coughs, rattling his bones and sending a stabbing pain through his lungs. Sharp, metallic liquid fills his mouth, dribbles over his bottom lip, and runs down his chin.</p><p>“Dean,” Castiel whispers, a prayer on his lips and the sweetest music to Dean’s ears. It’s the last thing he hears before he’s pulled under.</p><p>
  
</p><p>A whisper of wings—Dean hears it, a <em> whoosh </em>in the dark and a disturbance of wind. The scent of stale air and… and…</p><p>“Dean,” Castiel breathes when Dean cracks an eye open. He feels no better—worse, in fact; his pain pulls him into consciousness, tearing at his lungs and shredding his insides. It’s almost unbearable.</p><p>“Castiel,” he whispers, the name a soothing presence in the void. He coughs, spitting up more blood than his lips can contain.</p><p>“Here,” Castiel murmurs, reaching out with a shaking hand to wipe the blood away. Dean flinches, jerking away from the gentle touch. It’s instinct, but the angel saved his life, and even if he trusts <em> no one</em>, he doesn’t think Castiel wants to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” he says, drawing his hand away with a crease between his brows and hurt shining in his eyes.</p><p>“No—” Another cough, this one choking him up as he wheezes. “No, it’s… I’m sorry.” Dean gasps as tears prickle his eyes. He doesn’t want to die, but he knows he will. Of course he will, because he’s on top of a <em> mountain</em>, broken and beaten and bleeding out, and there’s nothing he, or anyone else, can do about it. </p><p>His breath catches as tears well, threatening to fall. </p><p>“Cast—Cas,” he says, cutting the name short on a cough. The angel,, his only comfort in the cold, harsh clutches of whatever’s coming for him, gives Dean his full attention, both hands wrapping around shaking fingers as blue eyes lock on him. “I don’t want to die.”</p><p>It’s barely a whisper, no more than an exhale on the chill cave air, but he knows Castiel hears him, and he knows he’s listening when his wings ripple. </p><p>“You are in so much pain, Dean,” the angel whispers, a shiver dancing up his spine. “I can feel it; don’t you want this to be over?” </p><p>“I… I—” With laboured breaths, growing more shallow with every inhale, Dean rolls his head back and forth. He shivers, sweat beading at his temples as nausea rolls in his gut. That one… hint. He can <em> feel </em>it? Dean’s pain? “How? M-my pain?”</p><p>“Yes. Yes, okay,” Castiel nods, his eyes searching Dean’s as he grabs onto the question like a lifeline and runs with it. “I—I can feel your pain, you see. It’s how I found you in the pit. It’s how I know…” The angel chokes on his words, but Dean keeps on listening, clutching at the single point of light he finds in all this darkness. </p><p>“I’m an exiled angel,” he tells Dean, hands still cupped around icy fingers, warming Dean in ways he’ll never know. “From heaven.”</p><p>Dean listens, his breathing slowing as he focuses on something other than himself. The pain eases, too, until he can just barely stand it. “W-why?”</p><p>A flash of something like regret enters Castiel’s eyes, but it’s gone just as quick, and a small, sheepish smile turns up his lips. “I made some choices my superiors deemed unforgivable, and they dealt with me accordingly.”</p><p>Dean frowns. “Dealt with you… accordingly? W-what are you? Some kinda soldier?” </p><p>“Yes,” Castiel says, solemn and stoic. He gives Dean a curt nod as his fingers slide from Dean’s. “My garrison fought in many heavenly battles.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise colouring his words. He tries not to laugh, but the thought is kind of amusing, if he thinks about it—in some sad, ironic way. This angel, who lives in a cave and flinches at the sight of another being, a <em> soldier</em>? “Wouldn’t take you for the fighting type.”</p><p>“Why not?” Castiel asks, looking genuinely offended as his bottom lip juts out in the smallest pout. “I was the best in my garrison.”</p><p>“What garrison was that? Third-string? Or do you prefer C-team?” Dean tries to smile as blood trickles from his lower lip, and it hurts—God, it <em> hurts</em>—but the surprised laugh he pulls from the angel makes it at least a little worth it.</p><p>“I’ll have you know, we were the best of the best. What you humans would call the A-team, I suppose, if the scale you are using refers to the arbitrary ordering of your alphabet.” Face straight, eyes bright, and something like fading loneliness in every part of Castiel. Dean is more than happy to chat; it doesn’t hurt so much when they’re talking.</p><p>“What—what would a soldier of heaven even… <em>do</em>?” That’s the part he’s most curious about, honestly. What beef could heaven have with, well, <em>anyone</em>?</p><p>“Quell rebellions, subdue demons or rogue archangels, battle cosmic entities…” Castiel shrugs, jerking and awkward, especially for a soldier. “But that was a long time ago.”</p><p>“Do you miss it?” Dean asks, desperate to talk about anything and everything that’s not him. He can feel the sick pit in his stomach, rolling and turning, clawing up his windpipe. </p><p>The surprise, fear, and longing is so clear on Castiel’s face, Dean almost regrets asking, but when Castiel shakes his head, he knows it doesn’t matter anyway. “I would rather not talk about that.”</p><p>“Sorry.” </p><p>They sit in stale silence for longer than Dean would like, but he’s too damn tired to try.</p><p>“Are you hungry?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“It might help you feel more alert. You’ve lost so much blood.” Castiel looks hopeful, and Dean’s too damn tired to turn him away, so he gives him a non-committal hand-wave, closing his eyes to block out Castiel’s grin. “I will make some broth!”</p><p>With a <em> whoosh </em> and a gush of stale air, Castiel is gone, stirring up dust and leaving Dean to the quiet—to sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
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    <p>
  
</p><p>By the time Castiel gets back with a bowl of lukewarm broth, Dean is fast asleep, quiet as ever with a pained wimper every so often. </p><p>Castiel swallows hard, pushing back the aching fear that he’ll lose this human, too. He knows Dean is dying, and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it, but maybe he can slow the process enough to get the man some help. Maybe a doctor, or maybe he can get him down the mountain in time…</p><p>No. Castiel must not mess with the order of things. He must let this human die.</p><p>Even as the words of his superiors enter his mind, a niggling, insistent voice whispers that they’re wrong.</p><p>It’s a voice he’s listened to so many times, one that got him where he is now; in an abandoned cave on the side of a mountain. He’s not sure how Dean found him, anyway, and he hasn’t been able to ask. </p><p>Now, though, watching Dean as he sleeps, he thinks about it. How could a human find his hole in the rock? Was he sent here? Perhaps by Castiel’s superiors?</p><p>Maybe it’s a test? Maybe he’s <em> supposed </em>to let Dean die?</p><p><em> Or a punishment</em>.</p><p>The whisper passes through him like an icy breeze, sending a shiver down his spine and to the tips of his wings. He can feel every ripple of Dean’s pain—every twinge and every stab hits him like it’s his own. From what he can tell, Dean has several broken or cracked ribs, a broken leg, collarbone, and probably more. He knows Dean hit his head, but so far, it doesn’t look like there’s any brain damage.</p><p>As it stands, though, Dean won’t last more than a week.</p><p>Just the thought brings a lump to Castiel’s throat. It’s been so long since Castiel’s had someone around—millenia, in fact—and Dean… From what Castiel has discovered, Dean is good. He doesn’t know much, but for the first time in forever, Castiel doesn’t feel like a disgrace.</p><p>While Dean sleeps, Castiel cleans his wounds, swiping at the dried blood and caked dirt around the deep, still-bleeding cuts. He needs stitches, and many surgeries, and that’s just for the major injuries.</p><p>Castiel sighs, the weight of his helplessness sitting heavy on his shoulders. Not that long ago, Castiel could have healed all Dean’s pain with a touch. Now, he’s useless—unable to ease his suffering or even comfort him in his last few days.</p><p>Castiel tosses the dirty rag in the blood-stained water as he stands, stretching the ache out of his cramped legs and trying not to flinch as Dean’s pain hits him in waves. He needs to get away from him for a while, and he knows just where to go.</p><p>He has questions, and maybe he’ll find answers where the human first entered his cave. Castiel spreads his wings, feeling the satisfying stretch and pop of aching joints as he steps off the ledge, gliding to the passageway below. </p><p>The cave—an ancient thing without known origin—stretches far into the earth, descending further than Castiel has ever dared to explore. No one comes here; not in the two thousand years of Castiel’s exile, anyway, and he wants to know exactly what drew Dean in. </p><p>Castiel barely feels the sharp jab of rock beneath his soles, hopping from stone to stone with practiced ease and celestially enhanced senses. </p><p>The pit, dark and deep as the day Castiel almost broke his neck falling in—thank God, once again, for his wings—is empty, save for the dark pool of dried blood. The smell of copper and fear is sharp in the air, and the crack in the rock is just barely visible in the stream of moonlight.</p><p>With a deep breath and his heart pounding a drumbeat against his ribcage, Castiel slips through the crack in the rock, only hesitating a moment before stepping out into the frigid night.</p><p>He knows he’s alone, but even still, eyes press in on him from all directions, watching him walk, barefoot in the snow, from the only place he’s known for the last thousand years.</p><p>There are no prints—no footsteps—leading up to the rock face. Even now, when Castiel looks up, the only patch of clear sky reveals the three-quarter moon. A snow storm, then, wiping out all evidence that Dean was ever here.</p><p>That settles it. Castiel needs to talk to Dean.</p><p>He can’t deny the tiny bit of excitement that thrums in his chest with every step he takes back into the cave. Castiel’s curious, he’ll admit. He wants to know why the human is here, but more than that—and something he won’t admit even to himself—he just wants to know more about <em> Dean</em>.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“You must remember something,” Castiel says, stoking the fire as Dean watches, a different kind of warmth settling in his bones. The angel has been so kind—so selfless and caring, despite Dean’s useless memory and even more useless body.</p><p>“I’ve got jack shit, Cas,” Dean sighs, head pounding with the effort. He doesn’t remember a damn thing before waking up in Castiel’s nest, his memory a blur of pitch black pain. </p><p>He’s definitely got a concussion, the amnesia a result of that, and it’s frustrating as hell. What was he doing up here? Was he alone, or was someone with him? He has a feeling there was somebody else, but hell if he knows who.</p><p>“Keep trying,” Castiel says, but it’s weak, said on a sigh like the effort isn’t worth it.</p><p>“You just want to get rid of me,” Dean jokes, but it’s not funny, and he’s not laughing. Castiel looks at him like he knows Dean’s serious, eyes wide and open.</p><p>“If I didn’t want you here,” Castiel says, straightforward and matter-of-fact. “I would have left you in the pit.”</p><p>“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Dean arches an eyebrow, one half of his mouth ticking up in a smile. “At least toss me out in the snow where someone might find me.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dean’s heart warms as Castiel stands, a hint of a smile on his lips as he steps close with a clean cloth and a bucket of hot water. “Let me clean your wounds.”</p><p>Dean sighs, but doesn’t argue, laying his head back to stare at the dark ceiling. Castiel pulls back the sheet covering Dean’s mostly naked body—Castiel stripped him of his pants and shirt as soon as he got him up here—revealing the gruesome wounds in his thigh, the bone protruding in a sickening, jutting flash of white.</p><p>That’s probably the worst of his injuries, but how would he know? Either way, it’s where Castiel starts, and Dean hisses as soon as the cloth touches his exposed nerves.</p><p>“Sorry,” Castiel whispers, but he keeps going, swiping at Dean’s flesh, the cloth growing darker with blood and dirt. Dean winces all the while, stomach turning the longer Castiel goes on. </p><p>“Shouldn’t you reset the bone or something?” Dean asks just to distract himself from the pain. He’s panting, gritting his teeth and sweating through the blankets.</p><p>Castiel pauses, and it’s just for a second, but Dean has nothing else to focus on, so he sees it. There’s a pinch to Castiel’s mouth, now, a strain in his features. “I would,” Castiel tells him, voice tight. “But the pain it would put you through…”</p><p>Dean’s stomach sinks—right. What’s the point of fixing him up if he’s going to die anyway? “Never mind.”</p><p>“I think it would do more harm than good, Dean. Especially with the lack of bracing and medical supplies I have on hand.” Castiel tosses the cloth aside, but Dean can’t look at him. He knows he’s going to die here, okay? But shouldn’t he at least <em> try </em> to make it out? He doesn’t want to just be comfortable before he goes; he wants to live. He wants to go home, and he wants to see… wants to see… <em> someone</em>. </p><p>The name is right there, crouching in the shadows, refusing to be coaxed out. It torments him, dancing just out of reach as he scrambles to catch it. A frustrated huff bursts out of him, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through Dean’s chest. </p><p>He’s wracked with coughs, rattling his bones and shaking up his pain to agonizing levels as his lungs fight for calm. It’s a horrible cycle of pain and blood and choking coughs, over and over until he can breathe again.</p><p>Castiel is there when he’s done, wiping at his chin and pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Slow breaths, Dean. It will help.” And it does, calming his racing heart and easing his pain. </p><p>After a few minutes, Dean releases his grip on Castiel’s fingers, a blush rising in his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed ahold of him, but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind.</p><p>Still, the touch leaves tingles racing up Dean’s arm and along his spine, warming him with pleasure and bringing him more comfort than anything else.</p><p>“You sound like a birth coach,” Dean says, fighting off his embarrassment in the only way he knows how. </p><p>“Not quite.” Castiel doesn’t look at him, busying himself with warming more water and wringing out the dirty cloth. “Quick, even breaths for childbirth, and that’s for the mother, not the baby.”</p><p>Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, trying to think through why the hell that’s relevant. Why would it matter how the baby—</p><p>“Hey, fuck you!” </p><p>Castiel snickers, looking at Dean through thick, dark lashes, and even if he can’t see the ocean blue of his eyes in the dark, he knows they’re shining with a teasing light. </p><p>“You fall into a pit and see how much of a baby you are,” Dean grumbles. Maybe the angel is being a dick, but shit if it doesn’t make him feel better.</p><p>Castiel stands, arms stretched above his head and wings extending to brush both ends of the cavern. Dean watches, transfixed, as the black feathers shine with an iridescent turquoise and deep blue. Some almost look purple when he shifts just so, and Dean can’t help but stare. How would they feel between his fingers? Soft like silk, or like a bird’s? Dean’s fingers itch to know, but he doesn’t ask. That’d be weird right? Yeah, definitely weird as hell.</p><p>Dean’s eyes wander to Castiel’s bare chest, scarred and pale from so many years without sunlight, but still with a hint of warmth. He’s muscle and curved, with those perfect hip bones Dean can’t help but drool over, and even if he wasn’t a dying man, he’d be all over that.</p><p>But he’s broken, and no one wants someone like that.</p><p>“I need to find some more cloth, but I will be back.” Castiel lowers his arms to his sides and pulls on his hot-ass leather vest before levelling Dean with a look. “Don’t go anywhere.”</p><p>“Wild horses couldn’t tear me away,” Dean says, shooting him a ridiculous wink and a cheesy grin. </p><p>“Not even if I tied you to them?” Castiel grins, shyness colouring his cheeks, even as something else shines in his eyes. “I will do it, you know?”</p><p>“Promise?” Butterflies flutter inside him, lighting him up and threatening to carry him away. They increase ten-fold when Castiel laughs, head thrown back with that nose-crinkling smile. It’s deep and sweet like warm honey, distracting him from his dying days, if only for a moment. </p><p>It gives him something to hold onto when Castiel steps off the ledge, wings spread wide, leaving nothing but the glowing fire in his wake.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Okay, so I know I definitely wasn’t alone when I fell,” Dean tells Castiel before his feet even hit the stone. He looks at him with narrowed eyes, confused, and Dean huffs. “Focus, Cas! We’re trying to remember what happened when I got here!”</p><p>“No, <em> you </em>are trying to remember. I know exactly what happened when you got here.” Castiel sets a pot in the fire, ducking down to blow some life into it. </p><p>“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” Dean lifts an eyebrow, snark dripping from every syllable.</p><p>“I was up there,” Castiel says, pointing to the crevice in the ceiling that extends up, up, up. “Reading about the dark ages. What you were doing, well, I would assume it has something to do with why you’re taking up my bed and soiling my sheets. Leading up to that? I have no idea.”</p><p>“Smartass,” Dean mumbles, flipping him off. </p><p>Castiel rolls his eyes. “That insult has never made sense to me. What on earth is smart about my ass?” </p><p>“Careful, or I’ll find somewhere to stick this finger.” Dean smirks, dropping his hand.</p><p>Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up, disbelief colouring his features as his mouth pops open. Dean has about a thousand innuendos on the tip of his tongue about just how smart Castiel’s ass is, but he holds them back, wanting to hear what Castiel has to say more.</p><p>It takes a moment, but the colour rising in Castiel’s cheeks tells him it won’t be anything witty or well thought out. “You’re insufferable,” Castiel splutters, fidgeting like a blushing virgin.</p><p>“You pronounced adorable wrong, sweetheart.”</p><p>“I don’t get words wrong.”</p><p>“Nope, just their meanings.” </p><p>Dean’s a flirty guy, always has been, but this is a little much, even for him. What can he say? He’s a dying man, and he might have just a <em> tiny </em>crush on the gorgeous angel.</p><p>Flustered and confused, Castiel looks everywhere but at Dean. He pushes a hand through his hair, jerking and twisting to find something, <em> anything</em>, to say. Dean’s smile fades, a sick knot forming in his stomach when it becomes clear Castiel is more than a little uncomfortable.</p><p>“Sorry,” Dean murmurs, looking into the fire as Castiel unzips his vest and folds it into precise squares. The flames are entrancing, holding his eyes, but not his mind. That wanders back to the angel over and over, trying to figure out where he went wrong.</p><p>
  <em> It’s because you’re broken. No one wants a broken man. </em>
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</p><p>“How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Not so hot, Cas.” He’s shaky and achy and in more pain now than he was yesterday. More than he has been yet, and he’s not sure why. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his lungs, and it hurts to breathe.</p><p>“I don’t know, you’re always hot to me.” </p><p>That sets Dean back on his heels, distracting him from his pain just long enough to look up to see Castiel’s flush, and the shy smile on his lips when he looks at Dean.</p><p>“Damn, Cas,” Dean whispers, every part of him warring with itself. Emotions battling fear for dominance, and humour coming out on top. “I know it’s been awhile for you, but like I said, I ain’t so hot right now.”</p><p>Castiel’s chin dips, eyes dropping to his feet. “Do you remember anything else?” But he doesn’t wait around for the answer, spinning away with a ruffle in his wings. “Are you hungry? I will go make some broth.”</p><p>Weird. Something isn’t right here, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with a lack of interest, and more so with <em> too much </em>interest and not enough experience. </p><p>Is… is Castiel a <em> virgin</em>?</p><p>“Huh.” A tiny smile lifts Dean’s cheeks, hope blossoming in his chest, filling him with warmth as—</p><p>Heaving, painful coughs wrack Dean’s body, rattling him to his core as his lungs scream. It feels like his chest is being torn apart, two hands on his ribcage pulling from either side. </p><p>He tries to breathe like Castiel told him, slow and steady, but it’s no use. Blood fills his mouth, coating his tongue, warm and metallic, a stark reminder that he’s not going to live long enough to see his hope through. </p><p>He’s a dying man, his clock ticking, and he’s almost out of time.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Dean! Dean, <em> breathe</em>.” A hand lands square in the middle of Dean’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs in a <em> whoosh </em> that stops his coughing in its tracks. He inhales shuddering breaths, exhaustion sinking into his broken bones as Castiel utters soothing words in his ear.</p><p>“Sorry,” Dean says, a burning in his throat that has nothing to do with his coughing. How did he get here? How did he go from a bright, endless future, to days to live?</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for,” Castiel tells him, smiling soft and reassuring as he pushes Dean’s hair away from his forehead. “Do you think you can eat?”</p><p>“Do you think I should?” Dean’s not sure why he asks, but it feels like the only thing keeping him from falling apart is Castiel and his sweet, caring eyes. </p><p>Castiel stares at him, intense as ever, and for a moment, it’s like he sees right through Dean—looks right inside him at all the dark and twisty pieces. “I do. I think it will make you feel better.”</p><p>Dean nods, shaky and frantic, and Castiel makes quick work of grabbing the bowl of broth and a spoon. </p><p>“Here,” Castiel murmurs, holding the spoon to Dean’s lips. Dean opens up, letting the lukewarm liquid run over his tongue. It’s bland and almost tasteless, but it’s the best thing Dean’s had in what feels like forever. His stomach growls, aching with hunger as he slurps faster and faster.</p><p>All the while, he keeps his eyes locked on Castiel’s, beyond grateful that he’s not alone, not still at the bottom of that pit, wasting away in the dark. </p><p>When the bowl is empty, Castiel sets it aside, but doesn’t move away. He stays close, kneeling in his nest with his wings tucked in close to his back, and Dean can’t help but ache for more.</p><p>After a moment, Castiel casts his eyes to the floor. “I should—”</p><p>“Stay.”</p><p>“What?” Blue eyes flash in the dark, surprise mingling with confusion, but he doesn’t move.</p><p>“Stay with me.” With his heart in his throat, Dean reaches out a hand, folding his fingers around Castiel’s and holding tight. “Please?”</p><p>“I…” He looks down at the empty space next to Dean. “How?”</p><p>“Lie with me?”</p><p>“Okay,” Castiel whispers, nodding. His big, innocent eyes watch Dean closely as he lowers himself beside him. </p><p>He’s so, <em> so </em>careful, and Dean’s heart whispers that maybe he could have this. Maybe this is something he can let himself hope for. </p><p>With his head on the pillow next to Dean’s, Castiel just watches him, not saying a word as he tucks a wing around them, and twines his fingers with Dean’s. </p><p>Dean sighs under the delicate weight of the wing, feeling the satiny feathers against his bare skin. It’s breathtaking, sucking the air from his lungs in the most satisfying, heartwarming way, and Dean revels in it, closing his eyes on a deep, healing sigh.</p><p>He could spend the rest of his days just like this.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Castiel watches Dean long after he falls asleep, eyes closed and breaths even, if a little shallow. He can’t seem to settle, his heart filled with worry for his new friend. He can feel Dean’s pain, sharp and stinging, lying so close. It steals his breath and catches in his throat, but he doesn’t dare to move. He would do anything to stay this close to Dean.</p><p>In sleep, Dean is so peaceful, his teasing smirk nowhere in sight as his long lashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones. </p><p>Castiel doesn’t think he has ever come across anyone as beautiful as Dean in all his eternities, both inside and out. He’s captivating, and even in the short time he’s known him, Castiel knows Dean’s death, when it inevitably comes, will crush him.</p><p>With a gentle finger, Castiel traces the lines of Dean’s face, marvelling at the smooth skin and scratchy stubble. From his temple to his jawline, Castiel moves, skipping over the scratches, bruises and cuts. From his nose to his eyebrows, curved and beautiful. </p><p>Castiel doesn’t even notice Dean’s eyes blink open, too wrapped up in the pout of his lips, but his heart leaps when those same lips curve into a smile against the tip of his finger. </p><p>“Castiel.” There’s humour in his voice, and Castiel can’t help the way his heart flips when he drags his eyes up to Dean’s. Green and bright and absolutely gorgeous. They’re not as glossed over with pain as they were before, and the hope that lights in Castiel’s stomach is entirely uncalled for and not at all helpful.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Umm…” he stalls, mouth open and eyes looking anywhere but Dean’s as heat floods his cheeks. “I, uh—”</p><p>“I know I’m pretty, Cas,” Dean says, a grin transforming his features. “But watching a guy sleep is just creepy.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Castiel blurts, his stomach turning with embarrassment as he looks away. “I know it’s weird, but—”</p><p>“I’m kidding.” Dean lifts a shaky finger, tracing it over Castiel’s lips in a mirror of what Castiel did to him, and it sends a rippling, electric shiver up his spine. His wings ruffle and shudder, pleasure prickling in every feather.</p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p>Dean’s fingers follow a similar path that Castiel’s took, electrifying every part of him and sending bubbling warmth deep in his heart. And Castiel lets him, because maybe he’s more than just a friend. Maybe he’s someone to love, and Castiel is going to lose him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Another day passes, and nothing changes. Well, nothing good, anyway. Dean is going downhill, he knows, even if they’re both trying their hardest to deny it.</p><p>“I… I don’t—” Dean shakes his head, trembling worse today than before. He doesn’t need to say anything for Castiel to know he’s in pain, not that he would. If there’s one thing Castiel has figured out, it’s that Dean is stubborn as a mule.</p><p>He gives up with a shake of his head, eyes glassy and teeth grinding. Castiel aches for him, but he needs to get these wounds clean. As it is, he’s worried about infection, though it seems unavoidable now, and as much as Castiel hates himself for thinking it, a quick death for Dean would be a mercy.</p><p>But Castiel is selfish, so he cleans his wounds.</p><p>“C-Cas?” </p><p>This flesh doesn’t look good, all puffy and red. Shit, he should’ve reset the bone when he had a chance. He can’t now! Not with all this infected tissue—</p><p>“Castiel!”</p><p>He jumps, eyes snapping to Dean’s when a hand grasps his own. Dean’s are shaking, worse than they were before, as he pulls Castiel’s hand away from his leg and brings it to his chest.</p><p>“I’m… I’m tired.”</p><p>“I know, but I need to—”</p><p>“No, Cas.” Dean shakes his head, tugging on his hand with both of his. “It hurts. I’m tired, so can you please—” Another head shake, molars grinding and eyes filled with tears. “<em>Please</em>… Can you just sit with me?”</p><p>For a long, silent moment, Castiel marvels at the vulnerability he sees in Dean now. He imagines it’s rare, and he’s more than honoured to be trusted with it.</p><p>“Alright,” he says, but instead of lying beside Dean like he did the night before, he sits behind him, legs on either side with Dean’s head in his lap. Dean doesn’t even flinch at the intimate position, too tired or in too much pain to argue. He doesn’t allow himself to hope that maybe Dean likes lying like this with him.</p><p>“Tell me something, Cas,” Dean says, and he can feel the pounding ache in his head—the pain deep in his bones. “Anything.”</p><p>For a moment, Castiel looks around his nest, taking in the glowing embers dying in the fire, and the jutting rock holding his folded clothing. It’s not much, but it’s his. It’s all he has.</p><p>“I found this place about a century after I was exiled.” Dean perks up, his interest piqued, and he tips his head back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I would have broken every bone in my body because of that pit, much like you, if it hadn’t been for my wings.”</p><p>“You didn’t think to fill it in?” </p><p>Castiel snorts, and shakes his head. “It was useful. Nothing made it into my cave; I was safe from predators, and I could eat what fell in.”</p><p>“Smart plan,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel can’t keep his heart from dancing. “I am delicious, after all, if a bit tough.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“Would you have eaten me? If I had died?” The question is straight forward, no nonsense, but it catches him so off guard he’s speechless. “You would!”</p><p>“I would not!” What a ridiculous notion. Of course, he wouldn’t. “You are…” He trails off, shaking his head in disbelief as he twines his fingers through Dean’s hair. “You think you are so funny.”</p><p>“I think I’m adorable.”</p><p>Castiel doesn’t say so, but he thinks so too, and that’s the problem. Dean is enchanting, and nothing short of the most captivating human he’s ever met.</p><p>Dean’s laughter, soft and light, dissolves into choking coughs as Castiel’s heart skips a beat. “Deep breaths, Dean,” he says, pulling him into a sitting position, head against his chest as he coughs up blood and spit. </p><p>When he finally settles, Dean lays his head down, panting for breath as he sags into Castiel’s chest, exhausted. The silence stretches on, loud and echoing through the caves until Dean breaks it. “How many days has it been?” he asks, and Castiel counts back from now until the moment he found Dean in the pit. </p><p>“Not quite a week,” Castiel tells him, chin resting on top of Dean’s head. His wings ache where they’re pressed into the stone, but the last thing he wants to do is move. “Six days, to be exact.”</p><p>“Huh,” Dean says, his sweaty forehead sliding over Castiel’s chest as his shaking fingers curl in the blankets. “Y’know what that means?”</p><p>“No,” Castiel says, wracking his brain for anything of note, but nothing comes to mind. “What does it mean?”</p><p>With a soft sigh, and a wistful, almost sad smile, Dean murmurs, “It’s Christmas.”</p><p>Christmas. That means Castiel should get Dean a gift. The thought has a smile lifting the corners of his lips, all the possibilities flashing in his mind as he holds Dean close. There isn’t much in the caves, but there’s something Dean might like, and the next time Castiel leaves him, he will make sure to fetch it.</p><p>Castiel makes plans long after Dean is asleep, snoring softly in his arms. Maybe a Christmas tree? He has few objects that can be considered decorations, but they will work. In all his years, Castiel has never had a proper Christmas, but he has observed many, and he gets the gist. </p><p>Castiel makes plans, even if Dean might not be around to see them through.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Dean wakes, it’s to find the glow of a small fire illuminating the planes of Castiel’s face, eyes glowing dark in the flames.</p><p>He’s so handsome, and maybe in another life—another time—Dean would go for it, but no one wants a dying man, especially one as mangled as Dean.</p><p>Then again, what’s he got to lose?</p><p>But all thoughts of pretty angels vanish when he sees the changes Castiel made to the nest. Old candles, melted down but still flickering, sit on jutting stone ledges all along the dark wall. Strings of something tiny, red, and green hang, held up by rocks, crisscrossing above Dean’s head. There’s a tree, Charlie Brown-ish and mostly bare, but the little, cloth-wrapped package underneath brings a lump to Dean’s throat.</p><p>“Cas?” He finds him in the dark again, asking a question he can’t put into words, and when the angel smiles, he gets his answer loud and clear.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Dean. I know it’s probably not how you planned, but I hope…” He trails off with an awkward shrug. “I hope it will do.”</p><p>He’s right, it’s not turkey dinner and apple pie dessert, presents piled under the tree with ugly Christmas sweaters and all the cider he can stomach, but it’s Cas, and he’s trying, and Dean’s dying, so there isn’t really anything more to say.</p><p>“Alright, Kris Kringle,” Dean says, swiping at his eyes as he looks around again. “What do we have going on here?” He gestures to the decorations, just a flick of his finger, but Castiel’s face lights up nonetheless.</p><p>“These here,” he says, running his fingers over the string of red and green balls closest to him. “Are ice-berries on a string. I’ve never come across this particular berry in all my years; they grow under ice, which is why I gave them that name. So pretty, aren’t they? They might be my favourite berry.”</p><p>“S’that how you get your fruits and veggies?” </p><p>“Oh, God, no; they’re terrible to eat.”</p><p>Laughter bursts from Dean, ripping at his torn lungs and sending him into another fit of hacking coughs, and Castiel’s right there to get him through. It wrings him out, suffocating him one gasping breath at a time, but Castiel holds his head up, wiping the blood from his chin, and whispering words of comfort in his ear.</p><p>“If I didn’t know better,” Dean says when he’s all out of energy to cough. “I’d think you’re trying to kill me.”</p><p>“Really?” Castiel looks at him with wide eyes and an incredulous smirk. “Here I was thinking you were trying to distract from my poor attempt at humour by choking on your own spit.” He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, his eyebrow jumping up with it. “I suppose if you really do think I’m funny, that wouldn’t be the <em> worst </em>thing in the world.”</p><p>For a moment, Dean can’t form a single coherent thought, and he just stares at Castiel like he’s the most fascinating, beautiful being he’s ever come across. There aren’t words for how grateful Dean is that Castiel found him, but more than that, how happy he is that he found Castiel.</p><p>“Oh!” Castiel spins around, eyes bright with excitement as he kneels beside the ice-berry-bobble covered tree. “I have a gift for you.”</p><p>“You seriously…” Dean trails off, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf as Castiel holds up the package wrapped in stained cloth. “Cas, you didn’t have to—”</p><p>“I know.” There’s so much angelic happiness shining in his eyes, that it stops Dean in his tracks. What is he supposed to do with it? He’s a dying man, and he’s falling for a being that has no way of knowing just how much it hurts, knowing he’ll never get the chance to love him properly. Castiel, angel of the lord, doesn’t know what it’s like to not just love and love and love humanity—he can see it, right there in his shining eyes.</p><p>Castiel sets the gift in Dean’s lap, folded edges up for easy unwrapping, and Dean’s heart thumps a painful beat. </p><p>With his stomach twisting in knots and a headache creeping in, Dean flips the edges of the cloth aside and gasps when a tiny, pressed forget-me-not in a crystal clear sphere falls out. It’s only about the size of a dime, but the colour shines through like it’s lit from within.</p><p>“It’s beautiful, Cas,” Dean tells him, and he means it, but… but <em> why</em>? He looks up, finding Castiel’s eyes, nervousness and excitement warring for prominence in his expression.</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>“It’s… beautiful.” Dean nods, but still, Castiel’s shoulders slump. “But, why?”</p><p>“It’s the first thing I created at the beginning of time. I thought you would find it neat and, um, the flower is extinct, so—”</p><p>Dean’s heart stops. “Wait, what? The first thing you created?” </p><p>“It is.”</p><p>Just like that, Dean’s throat closes up, blocked by too many emotions to name as he holds the tiny trinket to his heart. “I love it,” Dean whispers, every joke he could possibly make fleeing in the wake of how he feels for the angel. “I <em>love </em>it. I wish I could give you something like this.”</p><p>Instead of responding, Castiel lowers himself down beside Dean, head on his pillow and one wing settling over Dean’s aching body. He knows he looks a mess, his hair matted and muddy, probably with bags under his eyes and not a scrap of clothing on besides his boxers, but Castiel doesn’t seem to care.</p><p>“Tell me something about you no one else knows.”</p><p>“What?” Dean looks at Castiel like he’s grown another head. “Why would—”</p><p>“That’s all I want as a gift, Dean. Just to know you.” Castiel’s eyes wander the planes of Dean’s face, tracing his features in a way that feels entirely too exposing, and Dean breaks eye contact, looking over at the tree as he thinks through what he could possibly say that’s not humiliating to admit even to himself.</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to live in the forest.” It’s a simple thing, so mundane you wouldn’t even think it a secret, but for Dean, it’s the one he holds closest to his heart. “Up in the mountains, somewhere far from the lights and the noise. It’s funny, everything before my fall is hazy, and I still don’t remember what happened, but that is <em> so </em> clear.” Dean looks back to Castiel, who listens with rapt attention. “It’s like there’s alway been this missing piece, you know? Like something wasn’t quite right, but up here? Even dying, it feels peaceful.”</p><p>“Peaceful,” Castiel parrots, mulling the word over. “I always thought of it as lonely, but I suppose in the right mind it could be peaceful, too.”</p><p>For the first time since he met the angel, Dean lets himself think about what a solitary life would be like in this place. Castiel has been here for thousands of years, completely alone. That’s gotta mess with your head.</p><p>“Sorry,” Dean murmurs, reaching out a shaky hand for those inky black wings. His fingers sink into the silky feathers, feeling right down to delicate bone and warm skin. “Sorry, I gotta leave you, too.”</p><p>Castiel shivers, wings twitching and ruffling with every pass of Dean’s hand. The feathers are just as soft as Dean imagined—softer, maybe. He could do this for hours, just play with the short, downy feathers, and the two-foot long primaries. </p><p>Dean waits, watching the angel’s face, but Castiel doesn’t respond, his eyes closed as his breathing evens out. Did… did Castiel fall asleep? Dean bored him to <em> sleep</em>?</p><p>A soft, huffing laugh rolls from Dean’s lips, but he lays his head down, too, and soon, the nest, their Christmas party, and the rest of the world fade away.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>There’s a tickling, itching sensation in his nose. Dean sniffs, wrinkling up his face, but the tickling doesn’t stop.</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>He makes his best attempt at a swat, but barely brushes what feels like a feather when it pulls away. His eyes pop open, finding Castiel several feet away, a bowl cupped between both hands, and one wing stretched out, hovering near his cheekbones.</p><p>“Cas?” Dean growls, a warning, but Castiel just smiles, warm and teasing, without a hint of remorse. “<em>What </em> do you <em> want</em>?”</p><p>With a quick snap, Castiel draws his wing back and holds up the bowl in both hands, a cheesy, over enthusiastic grin on his face.</p><p>There’s a moment, just a moment, when Dean can’t help but wonder what, or <em> who</em>, brought him here, to Castiel, specifically. God, or otherwise, whoever gave the angel to him, he’s never been more grateful for anything in his life. </p><p>Dean pushes the thought away as Castiel looks up from the rising steam, meeting his gaze with a touch of a smile.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks, and yes, Dean finds that he is. </p><p>“Yeah,” he breathes, but doesn’t dare try to move. Castiel doesn’t ask him to, either, coming close with a spoon held up to his lips. “I can feed myself, y’know?” Dean grumbles, lifting an arm with a wince and a scowl as his shoulder burns. </p><p>“No, you can’t.” Straightforward, no-nonsense. Just the kind of guy for Dean.</p><p>Shit, all that blood-loss is really getting to him, huh?</p><p>“Fine, but don’t you dare spill on me.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p>Dean doesn’t bother commenting, only opens his mouth for the spoon Castiel holds to his lips. The broth, when it hits his tongue, is almost tasteless, but hot and soothing to his senses. He moans on the first spoonful, eyes lifting to Castiel’s, who watches him with a peculiar curiosity—like the idea of human pleasure is foreign to him.</p><p>“Thanks,” Dean murmurs when the bowl is empty, feeling better than he has since the morning. Castiel reaches out a finger, his wings ruffling when they touch Dean’s face, swiping at a drop of spilt broth. Dean shivers, a tremble making its way through his aching bones. Warmth blossoms in his chest when Castiel stays close, a hand on his cheek and his eyes trained on Dean’s.</p><p>“How do you feel?” The angel rumbles, voices so deep and rich, it’s like melted honey and bourbon. </p><p>“Like hell warmed over.”</p><p>Castiel chuckles, small and quiet, but it’s a soothing sound, and Dean smiles right along with him. “A stupid question. I’m sorry.”</p><p> “Yeah,” Dean breathes, but he really does feel better, if only for now. He grabs Castiel’s hand when he tries to pull away, holding on with all the strength he can muster. “Won’t you stay?”</p><p>Castiel blinks, looking a little taken aback by the request, but he doesn’t pull away or refuse. “Of course, Dean. Anything.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Dean says again as his eyelids droop and exhaustion takes over. God, he’s so tired. “Wake me when it’s over?” He’s not even really sure what <em> it </em>is, and it’s obvious Castiel doesn’t either, but he nods, a sad smile curving his full lips, and Dean lets himself sleep.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Dean spends the next few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, talking to Castiel, and trying not to die. He eats what Castiel brings him, and lets him tend to his wounds, but they both know what’s coming.</p><p>Dean is going to die, and he’s too out of it to care.</p><p>Now, though, when he wakes up, his head is clearer, and even if the pain is still there, it isn’t as insistent.</p><p>“Cas,” Dean whispers, head rolling on the makeshift pillow Castiel gave him. And Castiel’s there, right there, at his side with a clean cloth and a bucket of fresh water. “Castiel.”</p><p>“I’m here,” Castiel says, kneeling by Dean’s side with the sopping cloth clutched in one hand. Dean sighs, letting himself relax as Castiel goes about cleaning his wounds. It’s not much, and there’s no way it’ll save him, but the thought is nice, and it feels good to be taken care of. </p><p>After a while, Castiel speaks, his rumbling voice echoing in the cave. “What brought you to my cave, Dean?” It’s a simple question, but the weight Dean feels behind Castiel’s words makes answering it feel like the hardest thing in the world.</p><p>But Dean doesn’t remember. He <em> can’t </em> answer the question, no matter how simple. He just wants to sleep. He wants to be numb. He wants—</p><p>“My brother,” Dean blurts, panic surging inside him when he remembers Sammy, and the fact that he’s not here. “Where’s my brother?” He tries to sit up—to move at all, but pain lances up his spine, pulling a cry from his lips. </p><p>Castiel is shouting—saying something Dean doesn’t hear—and holding him down with gentle, but firm, hands. “Dean! Dean stop!”</p><p>Dean still, panting and panicking, his eyes dart around the dark cave, looking for what he knows he won’t find. “My brother,” he says again, gripping tight to Castiel now. “He was with me when I fell. He was—”</p><p>“You were alone, Dean. You were the only one in the pit.”</p><p>The revelation should be reassuring, but it’s not, because if Sam isn’t in the cave, then where the hell is he? “I need to find him.” </p><p>“What? No, you can’t go anywhere, Dean! You’re—” Castiel stops short, but they both hear the unspoken word like the elephant in the room. Dean is dying, and they both know it.</p><p>“Can you?” Dean asks instead, so fragile it’s embarrassing, but if he’s going to die, he wants to see his brother one more time. He wants to make sure he’s okay—that he understands Dean doesn’t blame him—and that there’s nothing anyone can do to change it.</p><p>“Dean…” Castiel shakes his head, hesitant, but not outright refusing. “What if something happens while I’m gone? What if you get worse and I’m not here—”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>, Cas?” This isn’t what he expected when he agreed to a hike with Sam, but here he is, dying at a strangers side with nothing but blue eyes, and a vague hope that his brother is alright, to comfort him. “I’m feeling better, actually. More awake.” </p><p>Castiel watches him for a moment, assessing Dean for himself. He looks over his broken bones and torn flesh—his blood-soaked blankets and twisted limbs—but doesn’t argue any further. </p><p>“As long as you promise me you are alright,” Castiel says, hesitation still in his voice. “I can try to find him. But you have to promise me you are telling the truth.”</p><p>Guilt weasels its way into Dean’s stomach, because he’s not okay, and he doesn’t feel <em> that </em>much better, but he wants his brother, so what’s a little white lie between friends?</p><p>It has nothing to do with the glimmer of hope in Castiel’s eyes, no matter that he has no idea why it’s there. He doesn’t think it looks good on the angel, and he <em> definitely </em>doesn’t want to keep it there as long as he can.</p><p>Nope, no way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Even as Castiel pulls on his furs and stretches his wings, he knows he’s making the wrong decision. As safe as Dean is in Castiel’s nest, he’s still alone, and still vulnerable. If something happens to him…</p><p>Castiel hates to admit it, but Dean is growing on him. The quick wit and kind heart under all those rough edges intrigues him, and even after so little time, he knows Dean’s death will hurt.</p><p>Who is he kidding? Dean is much more than ‘growing on him.’ </p><p>At the mouth of the cave, Castiel hesitates, looking back over his shoulder at the stretch of narrow walls and dim lighting. Somewhere back there, Dean lies in the dark, wrapped in blankets and slowly coming apart. Even here, Castiel can feel his pain, dimmed as it is, but he knows Dean wasn’t being entirely untruthful when he told him he feels better. Sure, he exaggerated a little, but Castiel couldn’t help but let himself hope that the dulling of Dean’s pain is because he’s healing, even slowly.</p><p>So, he steps into the snow, feeling harsh, bristling winds whip across his exposed skin as a blizzard tears through. It’s not quite first-light, the world, hazy in the pre-dawn, but it would be near impossible to miss the angel standing not ten yards away.</p><p>“Anna,” Castiel breathes, frozen in place as she watches him. Seeing another of his kind for the first time in centuries isn’t nearly as exciting as he thought it’d be, because he knows she’s not here to offer him his place back, or to help him with Dean. She would never stoop so low as to heal a human.</p><p>“Castiel.” Anna steps forward, her armour melting the flakes before they can even settle on her, sparking with her grace as she singes the snow at her feet, face steely with all her rage held in. “What do you think you are doing?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sure, it’s petulant, but she doesn’t deserve his civility. </p><p>“The human.” He can practically hear her teeth grating as her hand tightens on her angel blade. “You shouldn’t be engaging with them, Castiel; that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”</p><p>“They found <em> me</em>, Anna,” Castiel says as anger starts a slow boil in his stomach, building with every memory of how unjust her treatment of him was. “And I refuse to just let him die for nothing. This is no fight of yours.”</p><p>Anna’s eyes blaze, her fiery hair whipping around her face in a celestial wind as her glowing white wings ruffle and twitch. She stares him down with all that holy grace, sparking envy in his heart as her power swells and pulses, reminding him of his own stolen grace. He misses that—he wants it back. </p><p>“Stay away from the humans.”</p><p>Then she’s gone.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Castiel tucks his wings in around him, shivering as he trudges through the waist-deep snow, soaked to the bone. It would be so much quicker if he could fly, but with the snow and the wind… No, he can’t. It would be a disaster.</p><p>As it is, he’s on a wild goose chase, he’s sure. There’s no way of knowing in what direction Dean’s brother went, and even if he does find him, what’s to say Sam will trust him? What’s to say he will follow Castiel back to the cave?</p><p>Castiel stops, panting and sweating even as he shivers and shakes. What is he doing? He’s not going to find anyone like this.</p><p>So he closes his eyes, feeling out into the thick forest in front of him, and back into the rock face behind. He can sense Dean’s pain even so far away, dull but pulsing, but there’s something else. </p><p>Another pain, closer than Castiel expects, reaches out to him from the trees. It’s calling to him, and Castiel follows its echoes, moving faster and faster through the underbrush, branches catching on his feathers and ripping them from his wings. It stings, but he barely registers the pain as he trips through the trees, and—</p><p>There.</p><p>Right there.</p><p>A human, tall when standing, Castiel is sure, crouches beside a tree, curled into himself as his icy clothes cling to his skin, and his longish hair sticking to his cheeks. </p><p>It’s been seven days. A whole week out here.</p><p>Castiel approaches the man with careful steps, heart pounding with fear. The man isn’t dead; Castiel wouldn’t feel his pain if he were, but just how close is he?</p><p>The man’s eyes are closed, blue lips visible even in the blizzard. He doesn’t shiver, too cold for that now.</p><p>“Hello?” Castiel whispers, creeping to his side. He tries not to startle him into waking, but the man jumps anyway, crab-walking backwards on stiff, shaking arms before falling into the snow. “It’s alright; I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p>“You—you’re an… you’re a—”</p><p>“I’m an angel, yes,” Castiel tells him. They don’t have time for this; he’s already anxious to get back to Dean. He can explain everything on the way.</p><p>“But, how—”</p><p>“Are you Sam?”</p><p>“Yeah, but—”</p><p>“You need to come with me. Dean is worried, and—”</p><p>“Wait, Dean?” Sam’s stuttering cuts off in an instant, his eyes locking on Castiel’s with razor-sharp focus. “He’s alive?”</p><p>“Well, yes—”</p><p>“He needs help.”</p><p>“He does, yes, but—”</p><p>“There was an avalanche,” Sam says, through shuddering, shivering breaths. Castiel can feel the pain inside Sam, both emotional and physical, and he knows he needs to get the human somewhere warm before he freezes. “We—we can’t get out.”</p><p>Castiel reaches a hand out for Sam to take, pulling him to his feet even as the wind threatens to blow him over. Sam’s knees lock and dip, too weak to hold him up, and Castiel tucks his shoulder under the man’s arm to keep him standing. “I can’t fly you out, Sam. Not until the snow stops.”</p><p>Sam’s shoulders slump, disappointment weighing him down and threatening to send him to his knees. Castiel braces himself. “He won’t make it, will he?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Castiel says, but he knows it’s a lie. Dean is dying, and Castiel knows he was sent for Sam so they could have their goodbyes. “We should move quickly,” he says instead of what he knows he should say, and Sam only nods, taking stumbling steps through the snow. </p><p>“I… I’m fine. I can walk.” Castiel let’s Sam go, allowing him to move on his own. It’s slower than he’d like, but that’s what he gets for travelling with a human.</p><p>Every trudging step feels like three as Castiel lifts his knees up near his chest. They’re both panting and sweating, tucking their faces as the blowing snow whips at their cheeks, and Castiel is exhausted in minutes, so he can’t imagine how Sam is feeling.</p><p>He looks at the other man, watching his longish hair stick to his face as misery contorts his features, but he keeps going, pushing on in the way only humans do. It’s fascinating to watch, and Castiel finds himself intrigued by this human. His brother, too. Their fight is unlike anything Castiel has seen in all his millennia, clinging to life in a way he couldn’t even imagine. </p><p>“What?” Sam stutters, teeth clenched and almost snarling. “What are you looking at?”</p><p>He doesn’t look that much like his brother. Where Dean is pretty features and charming swagger—even broken and bedridden—Sam is a giant of a man, lean but muscular. They don’t look alike, but their souls feel similar, if not the same.</p><p>“Why were you in my cave?” Castiel asks instead of the thousand other questions tearing their way up his throat, figuring he should start with an easy one. That’s what humans do, right? Castiel tucks his wings in closer, feeling every bit of just how <em> not </em>human he is.</p><p>For a moment, he doesn’t think Sam’s going to answer. He certainly doesn’t look enthusiastic about Castiel’s question, anyway, with his head ducked low and his eyes looking anywhere but at him.</p><p>“Brother’s trip. We went hiking—Dean said he wanted nothing to do with it, but I know how much he loves being out of the city—but I didn’t bother to check the weather, and by the time the snow started…”</p><p>“You were already too far out,” Castiel finishes for him, feeling it in his gut. He’s seen it before, after all—hikers getting lost in the mountains and struggling for a place to sleep. Most bring tents, some sleep in the forest, but none have ever found his hole in the world.</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam confirms, pulling his jacket tighter around those broad shoulders, and Castiel must admit, the man is attractive. Much like Dean in that way, and Castiel can’t help but take in the curves of his shoulders, to his trim waist. He would imagine Sam must have a companion back in the city, but it makes him wonder…</p><p>Does Dean?</p><p>Dean, who he’s falling for faster than he has with any human, with his humour, and wit, and all the tiny ways he tries to put Castiel at ease. </p><p>With an ache so strong and so insistent tugging at his heart, all Castiel wants is to be next to Dean, and for a moment, he panics. Is something wrong? Is Dean in trouble? Is he, God forbid—</p><p>“We should hurry,” Castiel tells Sam, picking up his pace as the blizzard whips around them in a surge of ice and snow.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sam,” Castiel says, looking at the young man as he chews on a piece of old jerky. It’s around noon when they stop for a break at the edge of the tree line, exhausted and hungry.</p><p>Sam looks up from his snack, his eyes smudged with dark circles, face drawn and pale. </p><p>“How did you survive a week out here? On your own without supplies?” It’s been weighing on him since he found the young man in the snow.</p><p>Sam takes a moment, finishing his jerky as his knee jigs. “I, uh…” He swallows, then turns to face Castiel more fully. “We used to camp without dad as kids, Dean and I. Not the whole ‘glamping’ kind, either.” His lips lift in a half smile, and for a moment, Castiel sees a flash of Dean, and his heart skips a beat. “We’d head out into the woods with nothing but a double barrel twelve guage and some shells, and that’s how we’d spend the weekend.”</p><p>“You were lucky.”</p><p>Sam nods, tension still in every movement, but he can see it easing bit by bit. “We were. I made myself a shelter in the snow, started a fire, and for most of the storm, I stayed put, but when the avalanche hit—”</p><p>Sam stops, swallowing hard as he blinks back tears. His pain sinks into Castiel’s bones, but he doesn't say anything, waiting for Sam to gather himself.</p><p>“I couldn’t get through. There’s just so much snow…” He takes a shuddering breath and looks up at the snow-covered bows of the tree they’re under. “Thought I might try to get back to the cave. See if I could save Dean myself, but finding that crack in the rock in the first place was an accident, so finding it again seemed impossible.”</p><p>Castiel doesn't say anything for a while, too busy trying to ignore the ricochet of Sam’s hopelessness, but time ticks on. It must be later than he thought, because the sky is getting darker, and even if the sun does set earlier in the winter, he’s been gone too long.</p><p>“We need to move.”</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>It’s dark by the time Castiel sees it. The mouth of the cave is barely visible through the snow, but that’s not what’s worrying. </p><p>Castiel is sure Sam can’t feel it, but he can. There’s a rumbling in the earth—a breaking from the firm, steady surface of the ground beneath his feet.</p><p>His heart skips a beat, then two. He looks at Sam and, no, he was wrong, Sam <em> does </em>feel it, because he’s looking at him like a proverbial deer in the headlights. Though—and Castiel’s not entirely sure where this thought comes from—with his size, he more closely resembles a moose than a deer.</p><p>The rumbling intensifies and Castiel’s wings ruffle, distress shaking his bones as the first rolls of snow make themselves known at the top of the mountain,  picking up speed as Castiel’s heart sinks. </p><p>“Avalanche!” Sam shouts, just as Castiel grabs his arm and takes off through the snow. He half drags Sam, tripping and stumbling, all the while keeping one eye locked on the sliding snow. It’s going to bury them, it’s going to kill them, it’s going to take them out, and Dean’s going to be buried under thousands of tons of ice and snow with no way to get him out—</p><p>Castiel squeezes through the crack right on Sam’s heels with the snow, quite literally, on his. Heart racing and hands shaking, Castiel bends double to catch his breath, hands on his knees and wings scraping ragged stone as every inch of him quivers with adrenaline from the near miss.</p><p>He’s never felt so… <em> alive</em>. It has to be the adrenaline, but it hits him like a truck, and scares the daylights out of him. </p><p>But another part of him thinks that maybe he likes feeling alive. And maybe almost dying isn’t the only thing that makes him feel.</p><p>Dean’s pain echoes off the walls, crushing the spark inside him and setting off a fresh panic. It’s worse now, mingling with fetid sickness and rotting death.</p><p>“No,” he whispers, taking a step forward in the blackness. “No, you promised.” Behind him, a blaze of light fills the fissure, Sam’s flashlight illuminating his face as Castiel cringes away while his eyes adjust. </p><p>“This way,” Castiel says, answering Sam’s question before it’s asked, and he leads him around the pit on a narrow passageway, barely wide enough for him to stand. He’d fly, but with his wings caked in ice, he’d fall to the bottom faster than a sinking stone.</p><p>Then, he runs, not bothering to wait for Sam as he pours on the speed, flying toward the pain that pulses like a beating drum. Anger and fear mingle with his urgency, compounding and expanding until he’s a quivering mess of explosive emotion.</p><p>“Dean!” Castiel bursts into his nest, taking the winding path up the side of the rock to get there, and panting like he’s just run a marathon. “You said you were fine! You said you were better—” He cuts himself off when he gets to Dean’s side, noticing the shivering, the sweating, and the pale, sickly complexion.</p><p>“Heya, Cas,” Dean says around chattering teeth, but he smiles, soft and sorry. “Maybe ‘m not doin’ so great a-after all.”</p><p>“Stupid, <em> stupid </em> human,” Castiel scolds, tears pricking his eyes for the first time in a generation. He bustles around, collecting water and a clean cloth. “Why would you lie to me? Why would you do that?” </p><p>“Not feeling so hot, Cas,” Dean murmurs, his hands clammy when he grabs Castiel’s. “Can we talk ‘bout it later?”</p><p>Castiel lets out a wet laugh, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying proper tears. “Let me see your wounds.” Dean doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t fight him when Castiel pulls away the tattered sheet covering the torn and oozing flesh of Dean’s thigh. The bone protrudes in a sickening white, but it’s the deep, veiny infection, spidering in all directions as blood poisoning takes him over.</p><p>He has hours left, and the thought sends panic arcing through him as thundering footsteps ascend the pathway to his nest.</p><p>“My brother?” Dean asks, eyes locking on Castiel’s, as green and clear as ever, and Castiel can’t help his smile. </p><p>“Here,” he says, just as Sam skids to a stop, out of breath and soaking wet. Dean doesn’t look at him though, not yet, but keeps his eyes on Castiel.</p><p>“Thanks, Cas,” he whispers, shaky fingers brushing his cheek, and just that tiny touch has his heart skipping to life. Castiel revels in it for a moment, but the life in his veins fades when Sam drops to Dean’s side, knocking Castiel out of the way. </p><p>They speak in hushed tones, and even if they’re not trying to cut him out, Castiel gives them some privacy. He doubts they would appreciate his celestial hearing, even if they did know about it, so he ducks out of his nest, finding the alcove where he keeps his clothes, and shakes off his wings, using an old towel to dry his feathers, before beginning the tedious process of oiling them.</p><p>It takes a while, but even when he’s finished—his shoulders aching and neck sore from all the stretching—Sam and Dean haven’t come to find him.</p><p>While he waits, Castiel boils some more chicken bones for broth. Dean must be hungry by now, and even if he isn’t, he needs to eat. Sure, Castiel knows it’s futile, but there’s a small hope—the tiniest prayer to a God that hasn’t listened in over two thousand years—that maybe Dean will get better. Maybe Castiel won’t have to watch another human he cares for die.</p><p>“Castiel.”</p><p>Castiel jumps at the sound of his own name, and it’s even more concerning than the look on Sam’s face. Why didn’t he hear him? He should be paying more attention than that.</p><p>“We have to get him out.” It’s not a request and Castiel knows it, but he also knows that there’s only one way in and out of this cave. </p><p>“We can’t.” </p><p>“There’s got to be another way—”</p><p>“There’s <em> not</em>.” Castiel tosses his stir stick aside, looking up from his seat with barely contained annoyance. “Do you not think I’ve searched every inch of this cave? I’ve lived here for thousands of years, Sam. There’s no other way out.”</p><p>“Then we <em> dig </em>our way out!” Sam paces from one side of the hall to the other, illuminated by the fire, stopping only long enough to catch the dry clothes Castiel tosses at him. “He’s going to die if we don’t.”</p><p>With a sigh, Castiel removes the bubbling pot from the fire, setting it aside for this conversation as Sam changes. “He will die even if we do. Your brother only has mere hours left.”</p><p>Sam’s pacing stops and he rounds on Castiel, a fire in his eyes that has nothing to do with the flickering flame. “So, you’re not even going to try? You’ll let him die because it looks impossible?” Sam scoffs, giving him what he’s assuming is the bitch face Dean spoke so fondly of just before Castiel left to find him. “Does he really mean so little to you that you’re just giving up?”</p><p>Anger burns hot and fast inside him, boiling over quicker than he expects. He shoots to his feet, backing Sam up to the stone with a finger in his face. “That’s correct. I’m not going to try, because failing means losing someone else I care for, and I’ve lost enough. I refuse to be hopeful, only to have him taken from me, too.”</p><p>Sam’s jaw ticks in a steady rhythm, so much anger in him that he takes a moment to respond. “News flash, Cas, but if you don’t try, you lose him no matter what. Hope or no hope, he dies.”</p><p>Castiel’s not sure why those words do it. He knows Dean will die, of course, but in that moment, the reality of losing Dean becomes all too real. It steals his breath, tearing at his insides as he gasps for air. He’s going to lose him, and probably Sam, too, if they don’t get out. </p><p>Is this another lesson? Is this another cruel teaching moment to educate him in why he should choose heaven over humans? Because humans cheat and lie and steal and die; that’s just their nature, and no matter how much Castiel loves them, it won’t change anything. </p><p>It’s in the books, after all. All his texts tell him the same thing—heaven is true. It is the only sure thing we have, and to stay loyal is the only thing that brings peace.</p><p>But Castiel doesn’t want peace. He wants <em> life</em>.</p><p>Life… <em> life</em>. Life in a book. He’s seen that before. An old, weathered tome with barely-there lettering and yellowed pages that speak to its age. There’s no guarantee, but…</p><p>“My books,” he whispers, finding Sam’s eyes in the dark. “I’m not positive, but there might be one thing…”</p><p>“Where are they?” </p><p>Castiel passes him, forgetting the broth entirely as he spreads his wings and steps off the side of the rock ledge, floating to the pathway below as Sam curses and runs along the path to meet Castiel half a minute later.</p><p>“This way,” Castiel says, not waiting for Sam to catch his breath as he leads him to the small make-shift library where his books and other various ancient artifacts are stored. “Here.” Castiel waves him in, following close behind. Sam looks around in awe, his mouth hanging open as he does a slow turn, staring up at the high shelving and towering stacks.</p><p>Castiel doesn’t join him—there’s no time—and heads straight for the book he’s looking for. It’s not one he’s spent a ton of time studying, but he does remember coming across some spells.</p><p>“This is latin,” Sam says when Castiel hands it to him, and for a moment, Castiel’s spirits sink. Of course. He forgets it’s not a common language anymore, and though he can read it, he thinks Sam could use the work, while he could use the time with Dean. It’s selfish, yes, but it might be all the time they have together. “It might take me a bit longer, but I’ve got this. You can care for him while I read.”</p><p>Sam gives him a look. It only lasts a second, but it says everything it needs to. <em> I don’t know everything, but I know enough.  </em></p><p>Castiel nods, ducking his head as Sam passes, slapping his shoulder on the way, and Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for a human in his life.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, a hand pushing through his sweat-soaked and blood-matted hair. “Wake up.”</p><p>Dean groans, head turning toward Castiel as his eyes peel open. “You got my coffee, sunshine?” Dean’s hand, still clammy and too hot with a fever, clasps his wrist and doesn’t let go. “‘Cause you know ‘m grumpy in the mornin’. Like a bear.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Castiel smirks, warmth blossoming in his heart as he strokes a thumb over Dean’s cheek.</p><p>“Rawr,” Dean growls, and it’s so ridiculous Castiel actually laughs. “I’m telling you, Cas. You’re lucky you got to see my good parts.”</p><p>“Oh, I wasn’t aware you had bad parts,” Castiel teases, laying down beside Dean with his head on the pillow. Dean looks terrible, he will admit, but the happy little glimmer in his eyes has never looked so sweet.</p><p>“Then you’re in for a treat. Let me list them for you.” Dean holds up a shaky finger for only a moment before his hand drops again, but he starts his list with a playful smile. “I’m beyond selfish,” he mumbles, tapping Castiel’s chest. As the list grows, Dean picks up steam, and his smile falls away. “I’m mean, I destroy everything I touch, and I take what I want without ever thinking of the consequences—and there are <em> always </em> consequences. I’m broken, Cas, and you can’t even see it past all <em> this</em>.”</p><p>He makes a half-hearted gesture at himself, and the battered twist of limbs under a single dirty sheet. The tears in Dean’s eyes hold so much pain, and it reverberates in Castiel’s chest, growing with every heart-wrenching untruth Dean puts out into the breath of space between them.</p><p>“I wish there was time for me to convince you otherwise, but as it stands, I’m afraid you don’t have even days, so I will tell you this,” Castiel whispers, voice strong and full of all the emotion he feels. “The love you have in your heart is greater than anything I have ever known, and the freedom with which you give it is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You are a good man, Dean Winchester, and you deserve the world. I only wish I had the power to give it to you.”</p><p>Dean huffs a laugh, wet and clogged with tears. He can feel Dean’s pain even now, and holds his hand a little tighter for it. “Damn, Cas, you make dying kind of shitty, you know that?”</p><p>“And you make living a dream.”</p><p>“Sap.”</p><p>“Only for you.”</p><p>Dean smiles, but he’s wracked by bubbling coughs that splatter blood over his chin. A groan falls from his too-red lips and, not for the first time this century, Castiel feels helpless. </p><p>He used to be able to tear down worlds with a lift of a finger, and now, he can’t even heal a single human. It has him wishing, after all this time, that he hadn’t saved the humans when the garden was invaded. If he’d followed orders, he would still have his powers. </p><p>Then again, if he’d followed orders, there wouldn’t be any humans to save.</p><p>“I wish—” Castiel starts, but he’s cut off.</p><p>“Castiel, can I have a word?” It’s Sam, standing by the path with The Book of Life in hand, staring at him with a look of mingled excitement and fear.</p><p>Castiel looks to Dean, but he’s already fading again, eyes drooping as his shallow breathing slows in sleep.</p><p>Castiel follows Sam a few paces away, but refuses to go too far. That doesn’t seem like a problem for Sam, either, as he keeps one eye on his brother and the other on the book.</p><p>“So, get this,” he starts, flipping through pages until he finds the right one. It’s near the end, with a diagram of two crudely drawn bodies, one lying down, and the other standing, with something passing between them in a hazy blue stream. “There’s this spell, here. It’s a transfer of life-force from one person to another.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard of it before,” Castiel murmurs, looking at the pages with renewed hope. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s from this ancient off-shoot of a tribe Eastern Europe.” He waves the words off, and continues. “So the spell takes the life from one person and gives it to another, along with all the years they would’ve lived.” Sam’s not looking at him, talking and talking and talking like nothing is wrong, but Castiel can see where this is going, and he won’t let Sam do it. Dean would never forgive him.</p><p>“You are not doing this,” Castiel tells him, and it’s not a question, but Sam still looks at him like he doesn’t have an answer in the world. </p><p>“But, we have to. Dean—”</p><p>“Not <em> we</em>, Sam. <em> You </em>aren’t doing this. I know that’s your plan, and I won’t let you.” Sam opens his mouth to argue, but doesn’t get out more than a squeak. “It will be my life that Dean takes.”</p><p>“You know he won’t agree to that,” Sam says, eyeing Castiel with the kind of look that tells him he shouldn’t even ask.</p><p>“Do you think he’ll agree to you dying for him?” Castiel arches an eyebrow, knowing he’s got him there when Sam’s shoulders slump. “I have lived since the beginning of time, Sam. I am more than happy to give Dean what is left of my eternity.” Castiel pauses, making sure to catch Sam’s eyes. “And it <em> is </em>an eternity, Sam. You understand that, don’t you?”</p><p>Sam pauses, thinking it through while Castiel waits. “Yeah, okay, you’ve got a point.” Sam looks past him at his brother, still asleep and only barely alive. “So what <em> do </em> we tell him? I mean, he wants to live, but for the rest of time?”</p><p>The low fire burns in the pit not far from Dean, flickering flames lighting up his pale face and casting shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. There’s nothing saying Castiel would have lived that long, or that Dean will, either. “We don’t.”</p><p>“Wait, Cas—”</p><p>“What do we need for the spell, Sam?”</p><p>“But, Cas—”</p><p>“Get me a list, and I’ll get you what you need.” He leaves it at that, not bothering to look at Sam as he steps back into his nest. </p><p>Dean wants to live, and Castiel can give him that. Castiel wants to be near Dean, at least while he can, for as long as he can, and that, he can give to himself right now. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Castiel opens his eyes to Dean murmuring in his sleep and an ache in his chest that isn’t his own, but it’s neither of those things that woke him.</p><p>“Castiel, it’s ready,” Sam whispers, close to his ear and quiet enough not to disturb Dean. “We need to move fast.”</p><p>Castiel sits up, feeling the weight of everything he’s doing settle in far too fast. He’s seen the beginnings and ends of civilizations, from the first human to the last dodo bird. He watched as the meteor took out the dinosaurs, and the Black Plague as it tore through Europe, but this is his end. In a dark, lonely cave, giving up his immortality—his whole life—for one man.</p><p>And he would do it over and over, again and again, for Dean.</p><p>“Are you sure it will heal him?” Castiel asks, as he’s done at least seven other times judging by the look on Sam’s face.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Sam says, not bothering to elaborate again as he sets out the spell’s ingredients and opens the book to the proper page. “There’s an incantation, and you will need to create a blood bond, binding your life-force to his.”</p><p>“Alright,” Castiel says, taking the knife Sam holds out for him and slicing into his palm. He winces at the sting, but the warm gush of blood that pools in his palm distracts him from the pain as he takes Dean’s hand in his, doing the same.</p><p>Dean doesn’t even flinch.</p><p>“Ready?” Sam whispers, book poised in his lap as Castiel’s heart kicks, pounding ten to the dozen as he nods. He’s afraid, yes, but there isn’t anything he fears more than watching Dean die. </p><p>“Ready.” </p><p>He clasps his hand with Dean’s as Sam starts the chant. </p><p>It’s like a thread tugging from one end, out of him and into Dean as Sam takes up the powdered mixture in his bowl and sprinkles it over their connected hands. </p><p>Castiel gasps, the pull strengthening as he weakens. He could just… he could lie down. Yeah… he’ll just lie down.</p><p>Head beside Dean’s, noses brushing and hands against his chest, Castiel feels the very real and very true realization that he will always, in any fight, and every decision, choose humanity over heaven. </p><p>No matter the cost.</p><p>He can feel the pain in Dean receding, even as his own intensifies. It’s a weird sensation, going from one pain to another. His breaths quicken, shortening to little bursts as a hand closes over his heart, squeezing it until it stops.</p><p>The last thing he sees as Sam’s chanting comes to an end are Dean’s green eyes, filled with life—<em>his </em> life. Beautiful and bright, so worth every sin he’s ever committed. He wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>
  <em> “Cas? Sam, what’s happening? Sam, what’s wrong with him, Sam? Cas, oh my God, Cas!” </em>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Castiel wakes once more to Dean’s warmth, burning bright and whole and alive, but… </p><p>Isn’t he dead? Shouldn’t Castiel be in the Empty, asleep for the rest of eternity? Then why did he wake? Why is he <em> here</em>?</p><p>In his cave, but not. </p><p>Everything is a bit hazy, like there’s a veil between him and the rest of the world. He pushes himself up, kneeling on the cold stone but feeling none of it as Dean’s sobs, muffled and distant, find him here.</p><p>His body lies in Dean’s arms, unmoved. What is going on? Why hasn’t he—</p><p>“Castiel.” </p><p>He whips around, falling to his butt as seven towering angels loom over him, Anna, front and centre. Their grace glows in the dim cavern, bright and powerful, but oh so cold. They stare him down like a he’s cockroach; something to be squished under their mighty wrath.</p><p>“What is happening?” Castiel asks, eyes flickering from Dean to Anna. “Why am I still here?”</p><p>“It seems the Creator has come to a decision,” she states, matter of fact, and Castiel’s heart drops. “With the events of today, and of millennia past, he has deemed you unsalvageable.”</p><p>Panic, sharp and hot, slices through him, choking him with its strength. He looks, wide eyed, between the angels. There’s no way his brothers and sisters would—</p><p>Oh, who is he kidding? Of course they would.</p><p>“But the Creator said—”</p><p>“The Creator,” Anna grates, cutting him off as her auburn hair floats around her face, the glow of her grace setting it aflame. “Has decided to respect your decision to live—and die, as it seems—for the humans. So, you have a choice, Castiel.” She tips her chin up, looking down her nose at him as he waits with bated breath. “You may move on to the Empty, where you will spend the rest of eternity at peace, or,” she pauses, letting him feel the weight of her words. “You may live amongst the humans, as one of them, for the same eternity. Your decision is final, and may not be reversed.”</p><p>“Dean,” Castiel says, without a second thought. He wants Dean, for as long as he chooses him. “I want to live with Dean.”</p><p>“Are you certain? You must understand, you may never return to heaven, and you will be cut off from divinity in its entirety. No grace, no powers, no celestial senses—nothing but your years.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Anna sighs, like Castiel does nothing but disappoint her, and he supposes he does. She would never choose a human over heaven. </p><p>“Very well,” she says, and with a lift of her hand, Castiel is thrust back through the veil.</p><p>
  
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</p><p>Dean holds Castiel close, his temple nestled on top of messy, dark hair. He’s not sure how long they sit there for, but Dean’s cheeks are damp, Castiel’s hair matted, and Sam sits slumped in the corner. They don’t speak. There’s nothing to say.</p><p>Everything is dark—<em>everything</em>. From the cave, to the fire, to the part of Dean that loved only for Castiel—until it’s not, and Dean just about jumps out of his skin when seven towering, winged and glowing figures materialize in the nest.</p><p>Angels.</p><p>“You can’t have him,” Dean growls, holding Castiel closer, arms constricting around his angel as the others draw nearer. “I won’t let you.”</p><p>“As if you could stop me,” the redhead up front says, energy rippling from every pore as she takes another step closer. Dean’s sure she’s right, but he’s a fighter—has always been scrappier than most—and that’s not about to change just because of some centuries old warrior with a superiority complex.</p><p>Dean lays Castiel down, getting to his feet on newly healed legs, and stands in front of Castiel like the sheer force of his will can stop her.</p><p>“Step aside, human,” she says, her voice ringing in his ears in a way that might be beautiful if it wasn’t so grating. “Or I will move you.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Dean,” Sam warns, the first words he’s uttered since before the angels arrived. It’s filled with all the terror Dean should feel, but none of the anger. None of the gut boiling rage at losing the one thing he deserves to keep.</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” Dean lunges, going for her abdomen like the desperate idiot he is. She tosses him aside like it’s nothing, throwing him against the wall with a sickening thud as Sam shouts. </p><p>A groan falls from his lips as he opens his eyes, blood trickling from the back of his head. The room spins, but Dean still manages to push himself up as she reaches for his angel. </p><p>“Get away from him!” Dean stumbles forward, arms reaching and heart racing as fear chokes him, but she just brushes him aside. </p><p>He hits the wall again, ribs cracking on the jagged rock. Across the nest, Dean sees Sam push to his feet, but he settles back down when the dark-haired, blue-eyed angel raises her weapon to him.</p><p>The redhead reaches for Castiel’s face, eyes intent on him as they begin to glow. “Don’t touch him,” Dean says, a last-ditch effort to stop her. He grabs her wrist, a barely-there hold, and she kicks him away like a stray dog.</p><p>Dean’s head snaps back, blood pouring from his nose, but he still sees it when she grips Castiel’s jaw. Power buzzes in the air, vibrating the rock as her glow strengthens into a pulsing, blinding light. It’s like sitting next to the sun, but instead of burning him alive, Dean’s skin starts to mend, pulling back together and healing like new. </p><p>Dean gasps for breath, heart racing and hands shaking as he shields his eyes, but it’s over almost as soon as it starts, and he just barely gets a look at the angels before they spread their wings and disappear from the cave.</p><p>Dean scoops Castiel into his arms, holding him against his chest as confusion and devastation swirl inside him. His angel, strong and soft and caring and sweet, taken, and why? Shouldn’t Dean be dead? And how did he heal? Was it the angels, or did Castiel do something?</p><p>“Sam,” Dean says, not bothering to find his brother in the dark. He knows he’s close. “What happened? What did he do?”</p><p>He hears Sam’s drawn-out sigh from a few feet away. “He transferred his life-force to you. Saved your life, actually. He knew it would kill him, and I tried to tell him you wouldn’t want it, but he—”</p><p>Castiel shifts in Dean’s arms, and Dean’s heart stops.</p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>“Dean, he’s dead. He’s not coming back—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Dean snaps, cutting his brother off. He doesn’t dare to move, or breathe, or hope. Not until—</p><p>Castiel groans, face scrunching up as he shifts in Dean’s arms, stretching like he’s waking from a deep sleep. “Dean?” </p><p>“I’m here,” Dean whispers, so choked up with relief he can barely speak. “Cas, I’m here, you stupid bastard.”</p><p>A smile, small and perfectly Castiel, turns up his lips as the tears welling Dean’s eyes finally fall. “Good.” Blue eyes blink up at him, not quite as seeing as they were before, but with the same intensity. “Are you—”</p><p>That’s all he gets out before Dean leans in, stealing his words with a kiss. It’s soft, filled with more emotion than Dean knows what to do with, and he cups Castiel’s cheek in his palm as tears streak his cheeks.</p><p>“God, ew, Dean, could you not?” Sam gags from the other side of the cave, but Dean can hear the smile in his bratty little brother's voice.</p><p>They separate on a smile, and Dean lets Castiel sit up, but doesn’t let go of his hand. “So, what now? What happened?”</p><p>Castiel clears his throat, rolling his shoulders and stretching his wings. “I will live and die as a human, without all the, as you call them, bells and whistles.” Dean laughs, delighting in the way one half of Castiel’s lips quirk into a smile. “A long life, it seems. You and I will both get my eternity.”</p><p>Dean grins, trying to hide the bubbling joy inside him as Sam busies himself with cleaning up spell ingredients. An eternity… It’s terrifying, and maybe not exactly what he wants, but it’s life, and it’s better than he had not an hour before. “You get to keep the wings, though, right? ‘Cause wings are kind of hot.”</p><p>Castiel laughs, full and bright, and Dean revels in it. “They aren’t so hot when you’re picking feathers out of everything.”</p><p>“Can’t be that bad,” Dean says with a shrug, deciding then and there that he doesn’t care even if it is that bad.</p><p>“Alright, but consider yourself warned.”</p><p>Dean runs his fingers through the soft feathers, smirking when a shiver dances over Castiel’s spine. </p><p>“Hey, guys,” Sam calls from the pathway, and Dean looks up with an annoyed huff. “I know you’re getting reacquainted, or whatever, but in case you forgot, we’re still snowed in.”</p><p>Dean looks to Castiel, who mouths <em> avalanche </em> to him, but right now, Dean can’t find it in himself to care. “You’d better get digging than, Sammy,” he says, and leans in for another kiss.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
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</p><p>“He said he would be here, Dean,” Castiel is saying, but Dean blocked him out the third time Castiel brought it up. Yeah, he knows his brother is late, but who cares? He’ll be here; he’s probably just got his girlfriend, Eileen, up against his car in some ridiculous make-out session like the horny teenager he is.</p><p>“Will you just stop?” Dean tugs on his angel's hand, turning his attention back to the beautiful spring day in the little valley a couple of miles from their cottage. The flowers are blooming and the air is filled with the fresh-earth scent Dean has loved all his life.</p><p>It’s been a year and a half since they dug themselves from the cave, shivering and sweating, but so relieved to be free that all Dean could do was hold onto Castiel and weep.</p><p>“I’m worried. He said he would be here for lunch and it is well after noon.” Castiel scowls at the forest in front of them, the mountain at their back, but Dean just rolls his eyes.</p><p>“A <em> late </em> lunch.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head, a chuckle falling from his lips as he lets go of Castiel’s hand to pull off his flannel and tie it around his waist. He’s sweating like a pig, beads dripping down his back and wetting his hair. </p><p>Castiel retakes his hand, twining his cool fingers with Dean’s, and Dean glares at him. “Don’t you sweat? What happened to ‘no bells and whistles’?”</p><p>Castiel grins, pulling Dean close for a quick peck. “Well, maybe some bells and whistles.” Dean huffs, but there’s no real annoyance in it as a smile tries to sneak its way onto his face. It’s a conversation they have often, teasing each other in all things, from Castiel’s wings, to Dean’s bowed legs. </p><p>Dean gives Castiel’s hand a tug, pulling him along through the slippery muck by the edge of the pond and into the firmer dirt at the edge of the rock face where the wild roses bloom. A chickadee bursts from the branches when Dean reaches for a rose. He jumps, hissing as he slices his finger on a thorn. Blood drips down his palm in a thin line, trickling off his wrist into the grass at his feet.</p><p>Castiel cups Dean’s hand with his own, bringing it close for inspection, a tiny crease between his brows. He swipes the blood away with a single finger, but it just keeps on flowing. “In my early years,” Castiel starts, and sadness bubbles up in Dean’s heart. Another thing that’s brought up often. “I could’ve healed you with a single touch.”</p><p>Dean knows Castiel misses his connection to the living world—the way he used to feel all things at all times—but he insists he’d give it all up again for Dean, and that’s about where the conversation ends every time.</p><p>“Here,” Castiel says, a twitch to his lips like he knows where Dean’s mind is. He reaches for a rose, plucking it off the bush without issue and twirling it between forefinger and thumb before tucking it behind Dean’s ear.</p><p>“Thank you,” Dean whispers, feeling healed and whole like never before. That emptiness in his heart from all those years alone is full, now that he has Castiel. Sure, it’s not always perfect, and they bicker like an old married couple, but it’s still good. It’s what he wants—what he deserves.</p><p>“I love you,” Castiel whispers, reading Dean’s mind as he hooks an arm around his waist and pulls him in. Their lips meet as sunshine warms their cheeks, kissing like it’s the first and last time all over again. Like it’s all about to end, and like it never will.</p><p>“God, don’t you ever come up for air?” Sam’s voice carries over the valley, over the pond, and to where they stand. </p><p>They pull apart, though only far enough to rest their foreheads together, smiling against the others lips. </p><p>“And I, you,” Dean murmurs for only Castiel to hear. The first gift Castiel ever gave him—the first thing he ever created—presses into their chests, trapped between them on a string, fastened by Castiel. It’s Dean’s favourite thing in the whole world, because it reminds him that he has forever.</p><p>So he takes his time, and after all the time Sam took to get here, he can wait just a few minutes longer.</p><p>No, it’s not perfect. It’s not marriage, or anything like that, and Dean doesn’t even know if he’d call his older-than-time angel a boyfriend, but whatever this is, it’s enough. It’s so much more than enough.</p><p>It’s everything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/allmystars_AO3">allmystars_AO3</a><br/>~<br/>Follow me on Tumblr at <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/allmystars-i">allmystars-i</a><br/>~<br/>Follow me on Instagram @allmystars_i<br/>~<br/>Come buy me a coffee on <a href="https://ko-fi.com/D1D346EM4">ko-fi</a> if you'd like!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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